home (within the heart)
by TenTenD
Summary: 'Twas only when her blood no longer came and her kirtle suddenly grew too tight that Lyanna Stark realised the Dragon Prince had left her with more than his heart in the godswood of her forefathers. But if she was aware of it, surely others would see too. And there would come a time when nothing would be able to cover her – shame, some would call it that.
1. i

i. 'Twas only when her blood no longer came and her kirtle suddenly grew too tight that Lyanna Stark realised the Dragon Prince had left her with more than his heart in the godswood of her forefathers. But if she was aware of it, surely others would see too. And there would come a time when nothing would be able to cover her – shame, some would call it that.

And yet, the thought of purging herself of the gift did not sit well with her. Likely she was being a foolish child, but something had to be done. What to do though? What to do?

ii. "If you love me, you will do this," Lyanna hissed as her brother stared at her with frightened eyes. "Please, Benjen. Please. Tell father I have left on the morrow."

Her brother nodded his head. "But where will you go, Lya?" The question slammed against her painfully. She could not say though her throat burned with the effort to keep the secret within. "Please, Lya, tell me. I would never betray you."

"I don't know where I'm going," she said at a long last. "But remember what I have told you. Remember. Promise me, Ben, promise."

"I promise."

She left.

iii. It was rather warm on the ground and the darkness was almost comforting. Lyanna curled herself in a tight ball and wrapped the cloak tighter around herself. The likeness of the first Brandon stared down at her. Her eyes had grown so accustomed that she could see the lines in his face.

She hadn't made a sound for days now. Benjen had run after her in the night, begging her to stay. They'd agreed that she would go in the crypts. It was safe there. Dark and warm and none went down unless it was necessary.

In the crypts Lyanna slept day by day and night by night, fed by whatever her brother could bring her in the wee hours.

iv."Are you in pain?" Benjen whispered, running his fingers through her dirty, matted hair. Lyanna only replied with a small moan. Her throat burned and she fought to keep her ache quiet. "Lya, let me get someone. Please!"

"No. No one, Benjen. No one," she protested, her hand searching for his in the never relenting darkness. "No one must know. Don't you see, Benjen? They would take the child from me."

"The child," her brother breathed. "The child is not more important than your life."

"To me he is," came her reply. So he held her hand and prayed to the gods.

v. They'd only dared to light a candle out of sheer desperation. And when the pale light flickered out, Benjen found he wished they hadn't. The ground was soaked in blood. His sister's blood. Lyanna was looking at him with wild eyes, gleaming in the thin light.

He helped her to her knees, drawing the skirts up. Her cloak was under her. There was something there. Something that was hurting his sister. She sobbed and keened, clutching his arm with a death grip. Benjen wanted to het up and run.

"Benjen," came Lyanna's fair voice. "Benjen, help me" Her sobs went on and on.

vi. It was Rickard Stark who found them eventually. Lyanna was clutching to her chest a tiny little creature of flesh and blood and her brother was watching in fascination, leaning slightly over her prone form. They hadn't heard him.

The sight chilled the blood in his veins. A thin cry rang out and Lyanna looked up. She gasped and her eyes became wide and pleading. At her side he saw another bundle twitching and trembling.

His face white, Rickard turned around and ascended the stairs, pulling the heavy door in his wake. The thud was alarmingly final, a death knell.

vii."Please don't take them from me," Lyanna begged as she was held down to the bed, maester Luiwin peering beneath the raised blankets. The nursemaid was feeding the boy and Benjen was holding the girl. His son had been obstinate, frustrating even, claiming that he'd made a promise. "Please, father."

"Be silent," Rickard hissed at her, raising his hand threateningly. Lyanna continued sobbing, her bruised skin peeking from beneath the cloth of her clean gown.

"By some miracle, there is no infection," the good maester finally spoke. "They are, all three of them hale and hearty."

And a plague upon the good name of their house.

viii. Lyanna was rocking her daughter gently, holding her with one arm as her other hand stroked the head of her son. She looked wearily at her father. He hadn't acknowledged her, not since finding out she would live. She'd been a ghost in the house.

"Too long already," Rickard Stark spoke out of nowhere. "I have endured this shame for too long. You will leave this house."

"Where am I to go, my lord?" she asked in a manner that was resigned and sullen. He gave her no reply. "Father!"

Furious, he took a couple of steps towards her, "I have no daughter. My Lyanna is dead."

ix. "Where is he sending me?" she asked Benjen. Her brother had been sullen all day. Not even the girl could wring a smile out of him. He held her, staring down at her small face.

"She looks like her father," he said a moment later. "The other doesn't."

"Is that where he wants to send me? To their father?" Lyanna noticed that Benjen could not hold her gaze. Her shoulders slumped. "Benjen, tell me. Whatever it is. Knowing is better. Always."

Light blue eyes peer at her. "It isn't better. Knowing, that is." His gaze returned to the babe and Lyanna was in the dark.

x. Old Nan wept as her father took the blade to her. Lyanna herself was weeping as strands of long hair fell all around her, on her lap, on the sheets, in her hands. She had submitted to the punishment with as little fuss as possible, barely even allowing a sound past her lips when Ice left welts on her. But then her father had taken her by the hair and started tearing through the beautiful tresses, her best feature as she'd once been told.

At that point, Lyanna could no longer remain silent. Somewhere close her babes too had started crying.


	2. ii

i. "I'll kill that whoreson!" Brandon yelled, his young bride trailing in after him, face pale and lips trembling. "He even dared pretend that he knew nothing of this." His eyes pinned Lyanna to the bed. "And you – you little fool. You would just lift your skirts for anyone?"

Unresponsive but for a vacant look, Lyanna rested against the pillows. She'd been dressed in a scratchy old kirtle, its colour faded, the hem ratty.

"Brandon, enough," came the voice of the tall redhead. "Have some pity." Her name was Catelyn Tully, if Lyanna remembered correctly. No longer a mere trout apparently.

ii. Ned was more sympathetic, but no less cold. He did not even look at her children. In fact, his whole frame exuded disappointment. In her. Lyanna did not dare offer an apology. "I shall see you safely to King's Landing."

"Lord Stark would allow it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Lord Stark," Ned spoke harshly, "would have you out of his home as soon as possible." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. "See what this has earned you, sister?"

"You have no sister," Lyanna countered. Her heart bled. "I thought to name them, but nothing fits."

Ned's lips parted, as if to speak. He didn't.

iii. Rickard Stark gave her a horse. Her own horse to be exact. Lyanna took the reins from his hand. He said not one word to her. Daringly, her hand shot out after him, touching his elbow. With a curse, he turned to face her. "You live because the father of your children holds some sway yet, but do not mistake it for something it is not."

Mouth dry, Lyanna nodded her head. He meant what he'd said, she knew. Lowering her head once more, she crawled into her self-imposed prison, a skin too tight and small for her. She was at fault, after all.

iv. Waking up in the middle of the night disoriented and frightened, Lyanna frantically searched for the babes, thinking they might have crawled away as she slept. Or mayhap her father's men had taken them from her to drown the children in the river.

But nay, just as she ran out of the crude tent that had been given to her, she saw Ned sitting by the fire with the nursemaid.

Tentatively, Lyanna drew closer to the light. She sat down quietly, a few steps away, and looked with interest to her brother's face. Ned was peering at the boy in his hold, a thoughtfulness colouring his features.

v. The water was cool against her skin, sliding down her neck. Lyanna shivered in the cold air. The summer had not lasted. 'Twas winter again.

"Come, enough for now," Ned called to her. "We have to move on." So far, he had been mindful of her state – somewhat fragile – and their journey had been slow. But the nights were growing longer and the weather colder. They had to make haste.

Climbing to her feet, Lyanna hurried back, her still wet hands cold as ice. She was helped back onto her horse. Her two children slept, unknowing of what went on.

vi. "You're still my sister." The affirmation did not bring tears to her eyes, nor did it wake in her some unknown emotion until that point. Yet her heart filled with warmth. She continued to stare at him, the fire flickering strange shadows on his face. "Whatever father may say, whatever you may have done, you are still my sister." His eyes grew sad and sadder still. "I cannot help you with this, Lya."

"I don't require your help, Ned. I wouldn't ask even if I did." After all, she did know her place. She was, however, grateful for the sentiment.

vii. Warmth slid against her back and Lyanna found herself being enveloped in her brother's protective hold. He used to do that when they were little too, sometimes, when she'd wake up from nasty dreams, sweat running down her brow. But then she'd been a child.

"Ned?" her voice sounded out softly in the darkness. The boy moved, his small foot landing on Ned's hand. Lyanna felt it against her stomach.

Lyanna closed her eyes and relaxed as her back pressed tightly against his chest. She laced her fingers through his. "My brother."

"My sister," he replied.

And the rest was darkness.

viii. King's Landing loomed ahead. Lyanna wrinkled her nose and the girl wailed in her arms. "She's been sick these past few days," she complained to the nursemaid.

"There's nothing for it. Poor dear, she'll be better once she's been fed," the woman volunteered, a kind look on her thin face.

Lyanna sighed. It wasn't feeding that she needed, but a maester. But that she could not say. Lyanna pressed a kiss to the child's head. "Here, give me her brother," she asked of the nursemaid.

The woman handed her the boy and took the girl from her arms. Lyanna kissed her son too.

ix. The guards at the gate gave them long looks, leering at Lyanna as if she were something to be stared at. They'd jeer after she was out of sight, Lyanna knew. Many people have. It was her fate, for the bore the marks of her sin.

Lyanna stared into their eyes, defiance flaring in her gaze.

Ned, though, would not allow them to linger. He pulled on the reins of Lyanna's horse. "Come. 'Tis time to say our farewells."

It was only until the gates that he was to see her – so father had ordered. The rest of the road was her own.

x. Arthur caught the man's hand just as it was about to rain down another blow on the crouching women. "What do you think you are doing, guard?" He almost snapped the man's wrist when a pair of familiar eyes looked up at him. "Lyanna Stark." It wasn't a question.

"Just Lyanna." He helped her up. "I must see His Grace."

"Of course." The children is her arms fussed and trembled, twin faces going red. The young mother cooed softly at them, offering him an apologetic smile.

"They must be hungry," she said.

Speechless, Arthur could only shake his head and lead her away. It looked like his dearest friend had at least one of his wishes fulfilled.


	3. iii

A/N: to Hisan: I actually keep a small notebook where I have most of my (wicked) plots written out. It helps some. But my memory is rather good anyway. Generally, when i look at a title of my works, the plots comes to me even if I don't use the notes I have. But for longer stories, it's quite useful.

I'm glad you liked the chapter. :)

* * *

><p>i. If anyone wondered at the sight of a Kingsguard followed by a mother and her babes, they knew better than to stare too long or whisper within his hearing. The scant protection was a blessing of sorts, Lyanna considered.<p>

"His Grace participates at the Small Concil's meeting," Ser Arthur let her know. "I shall speak to him." In the meantime, she was to wait in Rhaegar's private chambers. "No will disturb you." That was another blessing. Lyanna wondered when the roof would collapse though.

She was however much too tired to give it deep consideration and the girl had started whimpering again, the boy following her example.

ii. Rhaegar shifted in his seat impatiently, waiting for the old Grand Maester to be done. The Seven knew that nothing of sense left the man's mouth. Why the King tolerated such fools on his council, the Prince would never know. He was, however, obliged to listen to them and form opinions on their words.

Thankfully, Pycelle's little speech came at an end and with it the meeting. Rhaegar had other concerns to deal with beside the fact that winter had come again. The summer had been much too short. On that they could all agree. But such was the caprice of the weather.

iii. "What do you mean there is no word?" the Prince questioned, eyes focusing on the Spider. "Do you mean to tell me that all your little birds cannot find one woman?"

Varys licked his lips, hands folded before him. "Your Grace, Lady Stark has vanished. Some claim that she's been stolen. Other say that she is buried somewhere. No one knows for sure."

"I do not wish to hear your excuses." The decidedly angry edge to Rhaegar's tone produced a cautious look from the eunuch. "Find her." He turned on his heel and left the man standing there, staring in his wake.

iv. Arthur had known Rhaegar since they were both boys. They could read one another fairly well, so it came as no surprise that in an instant, the prince was aware that some sort of news awaited him. "Go on, Dayne," said Rhaegar, trying to chase from his mind the worries of the day.

"She's here." It was the words, the undefined. She. She, who? There was only one she that preoccupied Rhaegar. He gave an inquisitive look towards his friend. Arthur merely nodded. "I took her to your rooms."

Rhaegar forced himself to walk faster down the dimly lit hall.

v. The small figure jumped as he entered the room. Rhaegar could only stare in stupefied wonder at the familiar face peering at him. Instinctively he took a step forward and she took one back, though the distance between them should have neutralised any threat.

Fists clenched at his side, Rhaegar froze in his place. He recognised that stance. His mother would sometimes draw herself thus at the King's approach. Holding one hand forward, Rhaegar struggled to hold Lyanna's gaze. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Rhaegar half feared the word would be lost in the distance between them.

vi. That was all it took, the sound of his voice, something reassuring, for Lyanna to sprint into his arms, her frame knocking into his. He fingers clenched in the velvet of his clothing and she shook and trembled in his hold. He heard the sounds of her distress – but they seemed to come from far away.

Rhaegar brushed her short hair absently. One of his arms locked around her middle to support her. His eyes went to the two small bundles that had started fussing. He pressed a kiss to the top of Lyanna's head. She hadn't grown since he'd last seen her.

vii. "What have they done to you?" The question burst forth past his lip just as Lyanna handed him his daughter. Rhaegar hadn't been looking at Lyanna when he spoke, but her long silence prompted his attention to shift on her.

She was fingering her shredded hair, holding the boy close to her bosom. "What they would have done to any other woman."

"Lyanna, tell me." The request seemed not to reach her. "Tell me."

"Why?" She slipped the kirtle down her shoulder and down still so that she could feed the child.

The fading bruises made him gnash his teeth together. "They won't ever touch you again."

viii. Pycelle's usual slowness seemed to annoy him more than it did on better days. Rhaegar would have called any other Maester but him, yet no other would do. Slow as he was, Pycelle did know his craft. Lyanna was sitting near the crib, still holding the boy.

"She is tired, is all," the old man spoke. "It was the dust on the road and the cold. But rest and nourishment should see her through."

Rhaegar touched Lyanna's shoulder softly, encouragingly. Pycelle departed the room quietly. "The King should be here presently."

"The King does not worry me," Lyanna replied, her hand coming to rest over his.

xi. Aerys stepped into the room followed closely by his wife. Rhaella Targaryen was a statue of marble next to her miserably looking spouse. Despite her earlier words, Lyanna felt not at all at ease with the man's eyes on her and the children.

"A nice tangle you've made for yourself, boy," the King spoke, the derision in his voice clear. He looked Lyanna up and down, as if to assess her. A cruel smile curved his lips. Lyanna lowered her gaze. "Do you want to keep her?"

Lyanna blushed hotly at being treated as some object.

"She stays," Rhaegar answered.

"Very well. I am not the cruel father." The pronouncement made Lyanna shudder.

x. Elia grimaced at him, her lips twisting in dismay. "You act as if I might hurt her."

"You speak as if you wouldn't," Rhaegar countered, standing before the door. "This does not concern you."

"It concerns me. It concerns me when you decide to shame me before all of the realm." Her dark eyes sparked with defiance and she made to move past him. Rhaegar simply caught her arm.

"I haven't the mind to make a spectacle of this. You shouldn't either." She wrenched her arm out of his hold.

Drawing herself up to her full height, Elia cocked her head slightly. "You cannot protect her from everything and everyone."


	4. iv

i. "Keeping her here is a risk," Jon said. "Your Grace, you would know better than I the reactions of those close to you. Furthermore, the girl is with an ounce of support. She has no family behind her, none to lend a helping hand. Her value is gone."

The truth was often a bitter draught to swallow. Rhaegar inclined his head in agreement. Keeping Lyanna with his could prove a disadvantage. "Do go on."

"My Prince, Dorne might feel threatened. Her Grace, your wife, has suggested to her brother that you wish to supplant your trueborn heirs."

Rhaegar snorted lightly.

ii. "If you insist upon spreading vicious rumours then I might just have you sent back," Rhaegar told the woman before him. "This is no jest. If you wish to incur my wrath keep upon this path of yours and I will make sure your efforts are rewarded."

Mutinously, his wife raised her chin just a little bit higher. "I refuse to play second fiddle to your whore. I am your wife, the mother of your heirs." She caught him by the upper arm, nails digging in the taut flesh. "I am a Princess of Dorne and you will treat me with respect. I will not tolerate her presence in my home."

iii. Queen Rhaella entered the chamber quietly. She walked towards the young mother and placed a hand on her shoulder. Lyanna startled, her head turning with such speed that Rhaella though she'd hurt herself. "I did not mean to frighten you, child."

"Your Majesty," the girl greeted her. "I was merely surprised." A tiny smile blossomed upon her lips. "Have you come to see the children, Your Majesty?"

"Indeed. If I may." But the girl was not about to refuse her, that Rhaella could see clearly.

The twins had been bathed and pampered. They slept, the darling creatures, leaving their bone-weary mother to her own grief.

iv. "I wished to speak to you," the Queen disclosed as they sat down before the hearth. Lyanna had known the visit was no social call. In fact, she had expected as much. Her arrival in King's Landing had produced much of a wave.

With a deep, silent sigh, Lyanna nodded her head. "I am listening, Your Majesty." To her great astonishment, the Queen took her hands in his. She found herself looking in a pair of dark violet eyes.

"Do you love my son?" The question fell between them like stones dropping to the bottom of a lake. Lyanna palled. She knew what was coming.

Cursed was she in her own way.

v. "Females do not inherit." Lyanna's eyes dropped from his. She wished it were not so difficult. "And you do need a Visenya, do you not?" Tears stung her eyes. Lyanna fought to hold them back. She couldn't simply become a watering pot every time something went wrong. "I would be for the best."

"The best for whom?" Rhaegar brushed his fingers against her cheek. "I'd been hoping you hadn't heard." Lyanna accepted his kiss, but he could feel her retreating behind her walls. Those damned walls of hers. "Stay. Their words do not matter."

"They do," she contradicted softly. "I will not be their instrument, Rhaegar. I cannot."

vi. The lance cut through the straw, slicing the target in half. Rhaegar looked around, eyeing the chaos and destruction. It did not help him feel better, it did not alleviate his frustration and it certainly made nothing easier. He threw the lance to the ground, a gesture of half-disgust.

"Are you angry at yourself?" Arthur questioned, standing with his back against the wall. The carnage did not seem to faze him. "Or is your anger directed towards someone else?" Then again, Arthur was not easily impressed.

A short bark of laughter was the only response Rhaegar felt like giving. He was angry at everything and everyone, but especially at his foolish heart for thinking it could hold onto perfection.

vii. Many things could be said about the Prince. Some were good, some not so much. But, standing there in the room with them, Jon could have no doubt that if there was something all should acknowledge, then it had to be the man's love for Lyanna. It could not be anything but.

"Is everything taken care of?" Rhaegar asked. Jon could see his hand holding Lyanna's, pressed tightly into him. It was as if he feared she might slip away. The impending separation loomed before them.

"Everything, down to the very last detail. Your Grace will be pleased," Jon promised, though the Prince's face said otherwise.

viii. Lyanna fought the urge to wake Rhaegar up. Just because she was sleepless, it did not mean that he should miss on his rest. She moved gently about, escaping the hold on his arm. With quiet steps, she made her way to the twin cribs and looked down at the children.

"I wonder if he shall name you Visenya, after all," she whispered to the girl, whose eyes had opened quite unexpectedly. Lyanna thought that she might hunger. "No matter, to me you shall always be my sweet daughter." She took the child in her arms. "Don't ever forget that you are loved. I love you." She kissed the top of her fair head and hummed quietly.

ix. "Tell me his name," Rhaegar asked of her the morning she was set to leave. "I just want to know his name." They had agreed that it would be easier not knowing. Lyanna bit her lip in indecision. Rhaegar, however, was not about to give up. "Lyanna, my son's name."

"Only if you tell me my daughter's name," she countered. But when Rhaegar opened his mouth to answer, she rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. The name was lost between them. "Never ask that of me, Rhaegar." She looked in his eyes pleadingly. "Have some mercy."

x. The cabin was spacious enough and the guards at the door would see to her safety. Lyanna rocked her crying son. "There, my love. Do not weep. Shall I sing you a lullaby?" But the boy was stubborn. Just like his father. Tears of her own slid down her cheeks at the thought.

"Oh, my poor son." She kissed the boy's curls, dark like hers. "You miss them too, Jon? Is that why you cry?" Would it always feel like her heart had been ripped out and shredded to pieces?

Lyanna persisted in her attempt to calm the babe. Perhaps she might succeed in the end.


	5. v

i. Visenya looked at her father with wide eyes, innocent and pained. "Am I?" she insisted, her small voice raised in pitch. "Tell me, father, am I a bastard. Truly?" Small fists clenched into fine silk skirts. She started sobbing, her shoulders shaking with grief and tormented emotion.

"You are my daughter," Rhaegar replied. He longed to ask who had spoken those words to her. But in his mind, he already knew. "That is what matters." Visenya continued weeping even as he took her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and his thoughts slid towards a woman far, far away. "Hush, my dearling."

ii. "Bastard," Aegon taunted lightly when the Septa turned her head away for a moment. Visenya bit her lip, teeth slicing through the skin. The taste of blood was on her tongue.

"Don't speak to her, brother," Rhaenys cut in, her voice hushed. "You know mother doesn't like it when we do."

Visenya's eyes fell on her paper and she continued writing. It was no use trying to stop the Prince and the Princess. And they did not speak an untruth, after all, so why should she be bothered? And yet, bother her it did. Visenya blinked the hurt away. What else was there to do?

iii. "Your mother?" Rhaegar looked up from the documents he'd been poring over. "What do you want to know about your mother?" He was watching her attentively, waiting for her answer.

"I don't know," Visenya whispered. "Did she love me?"

Tenderness bloomed behind her father's eyes. Sometimes, his expression looked so downcast when they spoke about her. Visenya was almost always afraid to ask, just in case that was the day when her father grew tired of her. Aegon and Rhaenys seemed to think that it would happen soon. And then, there were times when his whole countenance mellowed at the mention of her mother.

"More than you could ever imagine," the answer came.

iv. Rhaenys scowled at Aegon when he broke the lemon cake in two and handed one half to Visenya. The youngest accepted the offering with a confused countenance. The last time she had been given anything from them, she'd felt sick for days.

"It's your nameday," Aegon said, shrugging his shoulders. "I managed to take this from Septa Laera." That Septa had a sweet tooth and very cook cakes. "Come on, it's good." He took a bite of his own.

Visenya followed his example, though she still had her doubts. How strange it all was. She half expected to be hit by something.

She wasn't. Aegon revealed the rest of the cakes.

v. "There are times when I expect to see Lyanna in her face," Rhaegar confessed as he watched his youngest daughter. "She does have her spirit."

Arthur gave a short nod. "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold," he waited for the approval to come, "why do you not call her back."

"If I call her back, I won't be able to let go again." Rhaegar downed his wine and pushed the cup away. "I am not as strong as all of you seem to think I am." He couldn't trust himself in that matter. But there would come a day when he would see her again.

vi. "Is it good?" Lyanna asked, putting some more food on her son's plate. How she enjoyed watching him eat. The boy was growing and growing before her eyes. "Have I the right present?"

"It's very good." Jon took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Mother, you didn't have to though. I am six-and-ten. I hardly expect to have you running around the market anymore."

It was a tradition with them. Every nameday of her son's was marked with a Northern dish. Lyanna would go to the market and pick everything herself. Never had she allowed anyone to cook on the special day. She did everything herself.

vii. The sword cut through the air. Jon twisted around, holding the shield up. "Tell me again," he pleaded, looking so much like a boy to her eyes that Lyanna could not help the amused smile that crossed her lips. "Come, mother, you promised you would tell me."

"Have I?" she questioned gently. "This old mind of mine." His laughter mingled with her own. "Very well, then, where shall I begin?" She waited for the weapons to be put away.

"At the beginning, of course." Jon sat down next to her. "One should always start at the beginning, mother. It makes for an easier understanding."

viii. "Do you reckon he thinks about us sometimes?" The question flew past his lips before he could stop it. Mother was only ever willing to speak about his father on his nameday. But sometimes, the many questions seemed to make her sad. Though Jon hadn't understood when he'd been younger, age tended to wise one up.

"I think he does. He does love us." Her conviction rang through him. Jon wondered if it was true. There had been not one word from his father. Yet he'd been given swords and armour. As a little boy there had been many toys. But never had he seen the man, not heard his voice.

ix. "Lys? Why would you want to go to Lys?" His mother eyed him with mild suspicion. Jon hid a chagrined blush. "Whatever scheme is passing through your head, you had best tell me right now." If only her sternness were able to convince him anymore.

Jon laughed lightly. "Mother, I wish to travel. There is a whole world out there." And he wanted to see it all. "Haven't you grown tired of this place?"

"A whole world to see," she repeated. For the first time, Jon noticed a silver streak in her hair. "I am a mother. When become a parent, you will understand what is so frightening about such words."

"But I may go?" he prompted.

"You have my blessings," she replied.

x. It was raining. Lyanna looked at the cloudy sky and smiled to herself. Jon's latest letter had reached her from Volantis. He had sent her silks and figurines and all sorts of interesting things. Lyanna had wondered at all the presents in the beginning, but he'd told her in one of his letters that trade suited him just fine.

She was glad that he found something he enjoyed. But she missed him something dreadful. Still, he'd promised to return soon and visit with her, since she never did accept any of his invitations to join him. Lyanna folded the letter and added it to the neat pile that documented all her son's adventures.


	6. vi

i. "Would you like to meet him?" Jon's head shot up at Illyrio's question. The fat merchant was regarding him speculatively. He brought one hand up, the rings on his finger glittering and glimmering in the light. "You are yet young." A benevolent smile made its way to the man's face.

Jon did not buy it for a single moment. "Why now? You've known me for a good number of years." He returned his attention to the small ledger on the table. "You've never made this proposition to me before."

"I stand to gain much," the man admitted. Jon nodded his head in understanding and acceptance.

ii. "Lyanna wrapped her arms around her son, between two impulses. She wanted to hold on to him, but she also wished to pull him inside the house. "Mother, you ought to release me before we both crash to the ground," Jon laughed, his arms securing her.

"But shan't let me fall, my dear boy," she offered in reply. Finally, she let go. "Come on in then. Don't keep me out in the cold. These old bones, you know." She smiled lightly at the disbelief in his eyes.

"Nonsense, mother, you're as spry as you've ever been." Jon closed the door after entering. "I wanted to speak with you on a matter."

iii. The sea was gentle and the wind was not very strong. Lyanna looked down into the water, resting comfortably against her son's shoulder. "I still cannot understand what you hope to gain by this," she said in a quiet voice, her face drawn and pale. Her hands shook with fear.

"There is nothing to be gained, but I am curious." His answer was straight-forward, so much like her own would have been in similar circumstances. Their leaving of the Seven Kingdoms hadn't been an exile. Had she wished to, she could have returned at any point, Lyanna thought, eyeing the sparkling vastness spreading before her.

iv. Summerhall stood tall and proud. There was no trace of the old palace, the one that had gone up in flames. Lyanna pulled the cloak tighter around her. She gave an unsure glance Varys' way. Why the man wished to aid then was beyond her, yet the thought of seeing her little girl and Rhaegar again pushed her forward.

"Come, my lady," Varys spoke, his voice soft, unctuous. "Be careful of your step."

Jon's hand tightened its grip around her hand when she stiffened. "I am no lady, Lord Varys." The man simply smiled at what he heard in her voice.

v. The sound of footsteps passing by the door did not help alleviate the knot in Lyanna's stomach. She stood by the window, trying to ignore her own anxiety. And she had been having some success when the door finally burst open and her head snapped around.

A young woman stood in the doorway, luminous eyes fixing on her and Jon. Lyanna barely had time to take a step forward before her arms were full. "Mother," the other female cried. "You really are here." A full head taller than Lyanna, she could easily envelop her in a hug.

"Visenya," Lyanna allowed herself to speak the name.

vi. "What news have you on this day, Lord Varys?" the King asked, barely looking up from all the sheets of paper strewn across his desk.

"News that should please Your Majesty," the eunuch replied. Rhaegar resisted the urge to give him an annoyed glance. The man could be irritable, for all he had his uses. Still, Rhaegar gave him his attention. Understanding it as a sign to proceed, the man did not waste another moment. "I have brought the Lady Lyanna and her son here, Your Majesty."

For a long moment he did not understand.

Rhaegar shot up from his seat and stormed out the door without another word.

vii. "Look, father! Look who is come!" Visenya spoke loudly over the sounds of his hammering heart. His daughter had her arms wrapped around a young man about her own age. A familiar face stared back at him, startled and sheepish.

Seated was another woman, her features also familiar. Lyanna was looking at him, her countenance a bit hesitant, unsure. She stood up slowly. Visenya and his son were watching them with poorly disguised interest.

"You never did tell me." Rhaegar knew she was aware what he spoke of by the way her eyes widened.

A smile bloomed upon her lips. "I shall let him tell you. My son, come and introduce yourself."

viii. Aegon eyed Jon as one usually did a strange insect. "So you are the other bastard," Rhaenys remarked lightly from her seat. Visenya could not help but think it was good that father was not with her. Still, she scowled at her half-siblings.

"Aye, that I am," Jon replied jovially enough though before she could say anything. "What of it?"

Seemingly perturbed by the frankness, Rhaenys blushed. "What of it?" she parroted, her eyes narrowing. "I am a Princess. You cannot speak to me like that."

"Leave off, Rhaenys," her own brother countered. "Can you wield a sword?"

"If I must," Jon replied.

"You must. Come with me." The invitation was not to be refused.

ix. "So you haven't wedded him?" Jon had not expected that. "Mother expected you might have."

"I refused," his twin told him with a bright smile. Jon touched the crown of her head lightly. Her hair was silver. "Aegon threw a tantrum. It was worth it."

"There is something in the way he looks at you though," Jon felt compelled to warn her. He felt strangely comfortable in her presence, as if she were the missing piece he'd found that he had had need of.

"You think I shouldn't goad him." Peels of laughter passed her lips. Jon joined her. "He is not dangerous, my Aegon, he just spends a bit too much time on his high horses."

x. "Stay." Lyanna turned her eyes upon him as the word reached her ears. A single word. She waited expectantly for him to continue. He knew well enough why she'd had to leave. "Elia has gone back to Dorne. The realm has its heir. There is peace." His hands brushed against hers. "Stay. I have nothing left to give them."

Tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of one finger, Lyanna leaned against him. "I love you," she sighed; there was no sadness to be heard though.

"And I love you, as I always have." He kissed her lips lovingly.


	7. vii

i. "Visenya, this has gone on long enough," Aegon sighed, catching his half-sister by the arm. "You cannot keep running away from your responsibilities." She regarded him with narrowed eyes, her whole body locked in strange passivity.

"I disagree," she said simply. Her gaze challenged him. Aegon clenched his teeth together, frustration creeping upon him. "My dear brother," she called him, her tone only slightly mocking, "whatever made you think that I would take your words to heart."

Shaking his clasp off, Visenya gave him an odd little smile. It was the same smile that had most courtiers melting at her feet.

Visenya Blackfyre left him standing there, pondering her words.

ii. "There are times when I wish to be back in Essos," Jon disclosed. He brushed his hair back, the mindless grace reminiscent of their father. Visenya looked up from her book. "You are too hard on the man."

"Not at all," she disagreed softly. "Trust me, brother mine, I know what I am doing."

Jon shook his head. "He will be your king one day. Perhaps it is not wise to antagonise him."

"That is still years away," Visenya laughed. "By the time Aegon takes the throne, I'll be too old for him to want. Besides, Rhaenys is with child."

"Is that why you are avoiding our brother?" The question startled her.

"One of the many reasons."

iii. Stroking her round middle, Rhaenys hummed a melody in the back of her throat. "It will be a son, I know it will," she declared with conviction. "Aegon, come feel this."

Unable to resist the beckoning, Aegon put away the sword he had been admiring in the sunlight. He placed a hand to Rhaenys' middle gingerly. He waited, counting in his mind backwards in Valyrian. "I cannot feel a thing."

Rhaenys was rather unfortunate in that she could not seem to carry a child to term. She was blameless, of course, as the affliction could not be controlled. And yet, Aegon would need an heir. Eventually.

iv. Lyanna wept, holding her face in both hands. Her hair had been freed from the intricate braids she'd worn of late. The curtain of tresses flowed about her, dishevelled. Visenya held her mother by the shoulder, but it was Jon who kept her upright.

"Valar morghulis," her brother whispered softly.

The King had died peacefully, in his sleep. The Maesters had no explanation, safe that the gods have called him back into the fold on the eternal.

Rhaegar Targaryen burned and with him the joy of Lyanna Stark.

It would give none cause to wonder that the beloved of the King would follow close behind.

v. The Crowning of Aegon the Sixth Targaryen was of such splendour that Visenya thought most people had forgotten the old King already. Of course, the realm needed a king. She did not begrudge her half-brother that position.

And yet Jon's warning had nearly come to pass. Aegon was King, and kings were seldom refused what they desired.

"Sister," he called to her, holding a hand out, "join us." Rhaenys was clearly unhappy, but she held her silence on account of having expelled from within her a long-awaited child yet again.

"If it please Your Majesty," she replied. Jon led her there himself.

vi. The candles burned, wax melting, light flickering. Visenya stood hear the fire in the hearth, warming herself. In less than a year she had lost both father and mother. And they had had such little time together. The injustice of it hurt.

But, what rankled more, was that even Jon was leaving. "You could stay," she told him. "Stay here with me."

"As the bastard of a dead King?" Jon gave her a long look. "I came to court because I knew it was the only way I could convince mother to. She is gone now. Our father is gone. What else is there to keep me here."

"Me," Visenya replied resentfully. "I am still here. Don't I matter?"

"You do not need me."

vii. Unable to hold onto his calm demeanour any longer, Aegon slammed his fist against the tabletop. "Seven Hells, woman, why are you punishing me? Have I not done everything in my power to be agreeable to you?" Visenya's cool gaze only fuelled his frustration. Her sullen silence aggravated the foulness of his mood. "Speak, or I shall make a mute of you and then you won't ever utter a single word again."

"What do you want me to say?" her voice cracked like a whip. "I cannot give you what you want."

Aegon leaned back in his chair. "Can't you?"

viii. Weary of fighting him at every turn, tired of being honourable – as honourable as a bastard could be, anyway – Visenya gave in. She leaned into his touch and allowed him to do with her as he wished. After all, there was no one to protect her. No one but Aegon.

The laces gave way and his fingers brushed softly against her skin. Visenya shivered. A knot formed in her throat and the pressure grew in her chest. "Visenya, I do love you," Aegon promised. "You shall be happy with me."

She would be just another version of her mother.

ix. Elia Martell held her distraught daughter in her arms, whispering words of comfort in her hair. She had named her daughter Rhaenys to ensure the girl would be loved. The first Aegon had loved Rhaenys best.

"I cannot give him a child, mother," the young woman wept. "All my babes are dead."

Not a single one had even been born. Elia held her daughter even tighter. "Hush, my child, 'tis no fault of yours. The gods have not seen fit to give you children, but you are still Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"What use have I of a crown?"

x. Gael Blackfyre was born, not unlike her predecessor of the same name Gael Targaryen, in the winter. Visenya could see the wonder in Aegon's face as he held his daughter. "She likes you, Your Majesty," the mother commented, a small smile on her face.

"And so she should." Even before her birth, Aegon had had the papers drawn to have the child legitimised even before she was born. The dowager Queen had been angered, yet she could do nothing. The Queen had protested, yet Aegon would not be swayed.

"Gael, my beautiful Gael." The father rocked the child gently. "My little princess."

He finally understood what his departed father had felt for his beloved she-wolf. He understood, for he felt it within his chest and in his mind, whenever he clapped eyes on Visenya. And his daughter.


	8. viii

i. Gael was two-and-ten by the time Maegor Targaryen was born. She held the babe in trembling arms, her father standing behind her, beaming down at the two of them. Or at least, she supposed he did. She couldn't see his face. Her eyes were glued to the round, scrunched and red face of her brother.

He was rather ugly truth be told. Gael giggled as Maegor yawned. "I am your older sister," she told the babe. His eyes were moving but his gaze was unfocused. "And you are my baby brother. So sleep easy for you are loved and protected.

She deposited the child back in his crib and the wet-nurse moved in to care for him.

ii. Uncle Jon held Aemma on one knee and Aenya on the other. The first of them was clapping enthusiastically at the performance on the fool, while the other had hidden herself against her uncle's dark robes.

"I could take one of them," Baela offered. Gael's junior by only a short year, she was always willing to help Uncle Jon watch the children when he happened to be in King's Landing. Gael would tease her sometimes, wondering out loud if she would do the same as Rhaenyra Targaryen who married her own uncle, Daemon.

"Nay, 'tis well," Jon declined. "They are so well behaved." As well behaved as a couple of little girls could be.

iii. Aegon clashed swords with Jon. Seldom did he have such pleasing sparring partners as Jon. "Stay longer, brother. At least until Visenys gives birth again. She misses you dreadfully, you know?"

If it were any other person that Visenya missed, Aegon supposed the man would find himself a head shorter. But since it was Jon, he could understand their bond linked them in a special way.

Jon lunged in a second attack. "I am not sure it is wise. I would not wish to make trouble for anyone." He was speaking of Rhaenys, of course.

His sister had become a bit unmanageable since she had birthed her son.

iv. "Who allowed you in the nursery?" Rhaenys raised her voice, stepping deliberately in Visenya's path. "How dare you?"

"I merely came to see my nephew," Visenya replied calmly, stroking her middle with languid movements. "Congratulations, he is a beautiful child."

"He is Aegon's heir." There was a threat somewhere in there, but Visenya merely brushed it off. "Do you hear me; he will be king."

"Indeed." Visenya pushed her gently aside, just enough so she might walk past her.

Rhaenys ran to the crib and took her son up, holding her to her breast. "What did she do to him?" she asked the wet-nurse.

The woman gave her a long stare. "She looked at him for a few moments."

v. "That flower is very pretty," Aegon said, picking Aenya up in his arms. The little girl squealed with glee and shouted out for Aemma to help her. Aemma, brave shield-maiden that she was, lunged forward with a battle cry, something akin to a laughter-ridden yell.

"I will rescue you," she proclaimed and caught onto their father's leg. "Mother, come quick."

Visenya shared a look with Gael as Baela hid her face within her hands and groaned. Aemma continued to screech for her mother. Seeing that she had no recourse, Visenya stood up from the bench and trotted over.

"I vanquish thee, fiend," she told Aegon, tapping his head gently with one finger.

Thankfully, the foe was felled. Aemma and Aenya cheered. Aegon laughed from his position on the ground.

vi. Maegor gurgled happily in his father's arms. Baela entertained Aemma and Aenya, as Gael stared into the fire. Rhaenys gave dubious glances towards the younger girl every few minutes, but she no longer protested their presence in the room.

The subtle tension in the room was a charged thing even if the occupants did their best to ignore it. Jon shifted his weight nervously from one leg to another. The waiting would do them all in, he thought. It was always the waiting that caused the most anxiety. Within the silence once could hear the strangest things. Jon shuddered lightly. He moved away from the window.

vii. Magella had the eyes of a Stark. Visenya marvelled at those unfocused eyes and cooed softly at the babe. Maelanya struggled against her soft cocoon of silk and linen, fussing and weeping. Aegon took her in the cradle of his arms. Unlike her sister, her eyes were a more Targaryen-typical light lilac.

"I should think you'd have tired holding all these children," Visenya teased.

"I couldn't possibly tire of it," Aegon replied. "They are my children."

"So they are," the mother agreed. "Now give her back to me, she needs to be fed."

Indeed, the babe grew quiet and appropriately busy with suckling nourishment from her mother the moment Visenya placed the small mouth at her breast.

viii. Pulling the long braid that dandled down Maelanya's back, Maegor erupted in a fit of giggles. Maelanya cried out and turned around like a whirlwind. "Leave off," she told him in the sternest manner she was capable of.

"Or what? You'll go crying to your mother?" he taunted.

Unfortunately for him, Magella had snuck behind him unnoticed. She caught him by the shoulder, dinning her nails into his flesh. Maegor let go of Maelanya's braid with a yelp. "Our mother should be the last of your worries."

"Maegor Targaryen, you are not nice at all," Maelanya said, scowling at him. If she was a soft breeze, her sister was a hurricane.

"I don't have to be nice." He scowled right back at her.

ix. Aemma raised her head to look upon the Mother's altar. Aenya stood at the back of Baelor's Sept, holding Rhaena's hand. The youngest of the sisters, the child could barely sit still. Finishing her prayer, Aemma climbed to her feet.

Septa Unora put a hand on her shoulder. "Speak to your father, child. You belong to the Faith. I can see it in your eyes."

"I shall. Soon." Rhaena ran up to her and grabbed her by the hand, whispering rather loudly that she was bored and wished to go riding, and would Aemma please hurry up so they could go home.

Aenya gave her older sister an apologetic look.

x. "You should wed," Visenya said. "You could have children of your own, you know."

Jon laughed. "The time is long past for me to wed, Visenya. I already have children to dote on and at the rate you are going, I shall drown in them. Or run a hole in my budget. Whichever comes first."

"I never asked for the gifts," she protested, a good-natured smile blooming on her lips. "You have no one to blame but yourself."

"Which is why I am only too happy to give them." He gave her a smile of his own. "Now let us discuss Gael's visit to Pentos."


End file.
